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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28439823">this space for regrets, only</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninzied/pseuds/ninzied'>ninzied</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Christmas Carol AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, not so much a love triangle as a love something, with more references to austen than dickens oops</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:08:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,763</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28439823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninzied/pseuds/ninzied</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with one simple favor.</p><p>…</p><p>Or, Frank inadvertently sets Curtis and Karen up on a date, and three unexpected visitors from the past, present and future help him to understand the pain that comes with loving someone in a whole new light.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Castle/Karen Page</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>kastlechristmas2k20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>this space for regrets, only</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spare_Parts_Bud/gifts">Spare_Parts_Bud</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>merry kastle christmas and happy holidays to you, heather, and to our kastle fam!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn't supposed to end this way.</p><p>It's the first thing he thinks, when he sees her.</p><p>And it's the last thing he thinks before the world is going grey, and then blurry, and black.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>To get to this part of the story, however, requires starting somewhere in the middle.</p><p>Frank cannot remember how it all actually started, with Karen.</p><p>He was already in the middle before he realized he'd even begun.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>It starts with one simple favor.</p><p>He's on the road again when she calls him—which is not completely out of the ordinary.</p><p>They talk. Not often, but in the time and distance they've put between them and the hospital, they've struck up something tentative, to start. The barest minimum to keep their lives just within orbit of one another, without letting them intertwine. He asks her for intel, on occasion, and at the very least she gets the heads up on a story, even though she's mostly freelancing these days.</p><p>All right. Maybe he's the one with the better end of that deal.</p><p>But Karen so rarely asks for his help in return, and now that she's the one calling, he's already half a state away from her.</p><p>"Hey," he says.</p><p>A brisk December wind whips past him on the highway, rocking his pickup. At the same time, a car cuts off a semi two lanes over. The truck blasts its horn loud enough that Frank wouldn't be surprised if Karen could hear it all the way back in the city, let alone while on the phone with him.</p><p>"You going somewhere?" She passes her tone off as one of amusement, but there's another layer underneath it. Another kind of question for him.</p><p>"Nah, just going upstate for a while," he tells her. "The Liebermans got a new house up there and, uh. Invited me to stay with them for a week, help 'em celebrate Hanukkah. Figured I didn't have anything else going on, so."</p><p>"Sounds nice," says Karen. Something more wistful in her tone now. "I'm happy for you, Frank."</p><p>He doesn't mention the part where Sarah had told him he was free to "bring anyone," very careful to avoid making eye contact with David as she said it.</p><p>He doesn't mention the part where it wouldn't have been anyone—it could only be Karen, for him.</p><p>Instead, Frank clears his throat and says, "Everything okay?"</p><p>Karen tells him about a holiday charity gala in a few days' time, hosted by a city councilman that she's been keeping tabs on. Frank doesn't have to ask why she's coming to him and not Nelson or Murdock. The three of them are running a fairly prominent law firm now, not unknown amongst the legislative circuit. Their added presence at the gala probably wouldn't be good for Karen's cover.</p><p>"Want me to turn back?" It feels like cheating, when he already knows what her answer will be.</p><p>"No, of course not," she replies. "You deserve a real vacation, Frank. Besides," and she says this part lightly, "I can find someone else to be my date for one evening."</p><p>Something clenches tight in his chest and refuses to let go.</p><p>"Wish I could be there," he says. He finds himself wishing it more than anything, that he could be the one on her arm at that gala. This version of him that knows how to show up for her, how to not be the one always letting her down. "But I have an idea of someone who might be able to help you out."</p><p>He thinks it's the least he could do. What he doesn't think about—what he has no way of realizing, at the time—is how much this moment will come back to haunt him.</p><p>"Okay," says Karen, sounding curious. Intrigued, even.</p><p>Frank gives her a name and a number.</p><p>And that's how Karen and Curtis meet.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>It was bound to happen at some point.</p><p>The way Frank and Karen have been…not getting involved in each other's lives, exactly, but working their way toward something like that. It was probably just a matter of time before she met the one other person that Frank values in his life.</p><p>Well. Apart from the Liebermans. But sometimes Frank thinks they already know way more than what's good for him.</p><p>Sarah answers the door, and he doesn't miss the way she peers around his shoulder, looking for someone that isn't there. She covers up her disappointment with a smile that's still no less genuine, and ushers him inside.</p><p>"The kids will be happy to see you," she says, and he's grateful that she leaves it at that.</p><p>David is unsurprised, until Frank makes the mistake of telling him—after too much rosé with their dinner—about the phone call on his drive up to their place.</p><p>"Let me make sure I'm understanding this correctly," says David. Sarah's in the kitchen loading up the dishwasher, but Frank's fairly certain she'll hear all about this soon enough anyway. "Instead of bringing Karen around here, you set her up on a blind date with your friend?"</p><p>"It's not like that," says Frank.</p><p>"All right, so tell me about him," says David, palms turned up. "What's he like? Your friend?"</p><p>"He's the best man that I know," Frank says, point-blank.</p><p>David gives him a look. "So—and I am taking offense to that, by the way—do you not see the problem you've potentially created for yourself here?"</p><p>"Nope," says Frank. He goes to the kitchen to refill his glass.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>He spends the rest of his time there resolved to put it out of his mind.</p><p>David can be irritatingly on the mark about a lot of things, but this doesn't have to be one of them. And even if he is, it's none of Frank's goddamn business.</p><p>So he ignores the growing sense of unrest, the itch of his trigger finger, the twitch in his leg when he's been sitting in one place for too long. Maybe his body's under the impression it has something important to process, but Frank has more experience than most disassociating from things like pain and torture, all that shit, and this—whatever it is—should be no different. And every time he catches his thoughts trying to circle the drain too, he reels them back in, shoves them into some corner, moves on.</p><p>Tries to, anyway.</p><p>"Uh, Pete? You okay?" Zach asks him, uncertain.</p><p>Frank blinks, and looks down. The football he's holding becomes something solid again, something real as he turns it over in his hand.</p><p>"Sorry, bud. Here." He throws, and watches Zach launch himself dramatically into the air to catch it between his arms.</p><p>"C'mon," Frank chides him, good-natured. "I'm not that off my game, am I?"</p><p>"I don't know," yells Zach. "Why don't you catch me if you can, old man?" He takes off, peeling around the side of the house with a triumphant hoot of laughter.</p><p>"Old man, huh?" Frank scoffs after him. "Yeah, we'll see about that."</p><p>And then it's burgers and steak fries for dinner, honeycomb ice cream for dessert, pretending to arm-wrestle Leo for the remote until bedtime, and four hours of tossing and turning later that Frank finally lets himself realize.</p><p>The charity gala should be long over by now, and he hasn't heard from either of them.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>And he doesn't, for the rest of the week.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>He finally shoots Curtis a text. <em>Hey. How'd it go?</em></p><p>Maybe he hadn't been able to make it. Maybe he already had plans. Frank hadn't even called to ask first before sending Karen his way.</p><p>His phone vibrates with Curt's response as he's eating breakfast with the Liebermans. It buzzes again while he's tossing his things into the cargo bed of his truck, and another time as he says his goodbyes—hugging the kids, grasping David by the hand, kissing Sarah on the cheek.</p><p>"Don't be a stranger." She squeezes his shoulder, stepping away.</p><p>"You know you're both welcome anytime," says David with a pointed look, and Frank just shakes his head at him.</p><p>He jerry rigs the cassette player and then pops in the mixed tape Leo had made him—she'd been ecstatic to find his truck still had one of those. The kid has good taste. It's all Springsteen and John Mellencamp, and he rewinds it more than once on the drive back to the city.</p><p>He's stopped at a gas station when he finally looks at Curt's messages.</p><p>
  <em>Hey, been meaning to text you. Where'd you find this woman? She's incredible.</em>
</p><p>Frank feels his pulse in his ear, and breathes his way through it until it's but a distant thunder. He continues to scroll.</p><p>
  <em>It was a great time. Actually grabbing coffee with Karen tomorrow. You should come. You can hear all about it then.</em>
</p><p>Curt's texted him a time, and the address to a place that's not far from Nelson, Murdock &amp; Page.</p><p>Frank types back his reply before he can let himself think about any of it, what it means, what it doesn't. Could be nothing. Could be—everything, changing.</p><p>
  <em>Sounds good. See you then.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>It doesn't occur to Frank, until he's right outside the coffee shop, that Curt might not have told Karen. Warned her that Frank would be there in case she was expecting it to…well, to be just the two of them.</p><p>Then again, it's only coffee, in the middle of a weekday, right next to the place where she works, and—shit, what is he even doing right now?</p><p>Frank opens the door and steps inside. Karen's already there, looking neither surprised nor upset when she glances up from her table and sees him.</p><p>The opposite, even.</p><p>She smiles, and stands, and his brain short-circuits a little.</p><p>She's dressed down today, in jeans and a black turtleneck. Her lips are tinged pink, and there are thin gold hoops in her ears, catching the light as she runs a hand through her hair.</p><p>"Hey," he says, as she approaches him. "You look—" The words catch on their way out as she puts her arms around him, hugging him close. <em>Good</em>, he doesn't know how to finish saying, but she seems to understand his meaning just fine.</p><p>"You too, Frank." Her smile softens, and he's left feeling slightly off balance as she steps away from him. "Looks like getting out of the city really agrees with you."</p><p>"Think it was the company, more than anything," he says. Something flashes across her features at that, utterly unreadable to him, but then it's gone the next instant. Frank clears his throat, gestures at her attire. "You taking a half-day today?"</p><p>He doesn't think he's ever seen her looking so—<em>nice</em> isn't the right word for it. She's always looked well put together, even under threats of smoke, and blood, and gunfire.</p><p>This is different. This is a side of her that isn't for work, for the courtroom or the Bulletin. It's for her, and maybe it's for someone else too, the faint touch of lip gloss, the rosy glow to her cheeks. In all the time that Frank's known her, he's never seen her like this.</p><p>"Oh." Karen lets out a small laugh, rubbing her hands almost self-consciously over her jeans. "Yeah, sort of. I was going to go check out this museum that one of the councilman's charity organizations has been making regular donations to, and Curt offered to come with me."</p><p>Frank nods, glancing down at his hands. There doesn't seem to be any safer place for his gaze to go at the moment. "Guess the uh. Date went well."</p><p>She tilts her head at him, considering. "We had a good time," she says finally. "Thank you for the introduction." She looks like she's about to say something more, but then she glances back, toward the end of the counter.</p><p>It's a testament to how focused he's been on Karen that he hadn't noticed Curtis back there. He's shaking out some sugar packets and reading the sides of the milk and cream canisters, carefully doctoring up one of the coffees in front of him. For Karen, Frank realizes. He and Curt both take theirs black.</p><p>Curt's face breaks into a wide smile when he sees Frank at the door. They meet halfway back at the table, Curt elbowing Frank's side in greeting before tipping his head gallantly in Karen's direction.</p><p>"Miss Page," he says, and hands her cup to her. "Hopefully I got it right this time."</p><p>"As long as you remembered the coffee, I think we're going to be okay," says Karen, all mock seriousness.</p><p>"There still any left in that thing?" asks Frank, lifting his brow, and she bites back a smile at him.</p><p>Curt sets down his own coffee, then reaches around to grasp Frank on the shoulder. "Hey, man. Glad you could make it. You order yet? Let me—"</p><p>"Nah," says Frank. "I got it."</p><p>He leaves them at the table, joining the line behind the counter. He doesn't look back—he doesn't need to. The sound of Curt's laugh is about as familiar to Frank as his own, if not more, and Karen's…it's not one he hears often enough, but he's attuned to it in a way he'd never fully realized until this moment.</p><p>Frank orders, and then makes his way to the back. He grabs the wrong-sized lid without even meaning to, leaving him stalled at the counter a little while longer.</p><p>He doesn't mean to glance over at them.</p><p>Karen is listening to Curt with rapt attention, bright-eyed and holding back another smile as he talks animatedly with her. Frank can only catch snippets of what they're saying, but the words aren't even the thing that matters, so much as what's not being spoken between them right now.</p><p>"Oh—remember when—" Karen touches Curt on the arm, and he throws his head back with another deep, full sound of laughter.</p><p>"Yes! Yes." He glances up as Frank walks back over to them with his coffee. "Man, we gotta tell you what happened to us the other night—"</p><p>"Yeah?" says Frank, putting on a half-smile for them. "Let's hear it."</p><p>And as he sits down, it hits him.</p><p>Not acceptance—nothing as calm or even half as honorable as that. It's something else, something more like resignation, the ache of it so deep and so quiet that it's all the more unsettling to him. Like falling with the certainty of never regaining his ground from this moment on, where both nothing and everything has changed all at once.</p><p>Frank is no idiot. He recognizes the signs.</p><p>The way they keep stealing glances at one another. The small, casual touches here and there. And the ease to their smiling, tempered with a very clear effort not to smile too hard, too obviously.</p><p>It was like that with him and Maria at the beginning, too.</p><p>He drinks his coffee, feeling it burn all the way down.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>He dreams of her, that night.</p><p>They're different, now. The dreams. She still feels no less real to him—the silky smoothness of her skin, the feel of her smile as she kisses her way up the bridge of his nose to his forehead. Even the way that she smells, like vanilla gone warm in the sunlight.</p><p>But he knows it's a dream now. And so does she.</p><p>"Hi, sleepyhead."</p><p>"Mm." He scrunches his nose as she kisses the tip of it, strands of her hair tickling his cheek. He tilts his chin up, mouth meeting hers. "I'm awake," he murmurs.</p><p>Maria makes a sound of amusement. "No you're not."</p><p>"No, I'm not," he agrees with a small groan, wrapping his arms around her, rolling them sideways into the bed sheets. He could stay like this all night, he thinks—and sometimes they do. Sometimes it's enough just to hold her like this for a while. Before another dawn is breaking. Before she's gone all over again.</p><p>But tonight, it appears that Maria has other plans.</p><p>She runs her fingers through his hair, down his jawline, then taps him gently on the chin. "Do you want to talk about it?"</p><p>"I don't know," Frank says, after a moment. "But I get the feeling, if you're asking me, that maybe I do. Want to talk about it."</p><p>Maria smiles at him when he opens his eyes. She's always smiling, when he dreams about her. A part of him—the part that knows she isn't here—recognizes that she had her edges, too. She wasn't just perfect. She wasn't just his. She was her own brand of fire, all bite, and burning, knew all the right ways to take him apart.</p><p>She leans onto her elbow, that smile fading away as she looks more shrewdly down at him. And Frank finds himself so fucking grateful that time hasn't softened his memory of her after all.</p><p>"So," she prompts him. "Talk."</p><p>He blows out a breath. "It's—complicated."</p><p>Maria arches her eyebrow at him. "Really? That's the best you can do, Frank? I thought I taught you better than that."</p><p>Frank hangs his head, scoffing out a humorless laugh. "Honestly? I don't even know where to start." He thinks back to the coffee shop, to Karen teasing Curt for letting her think she'd injured his prosthetic leg when they danced at the gala. To Curt pulling her chair back for her as they said goodbye to Frank and left for the museum.</p><p>"Not there," Maria interrupts then, but gently. "Come on." She takes him by the hand. "I'll show you."</p><p>Frank lets her drag him out of bed, bare feet hitting a cold tiled floor. "What? Where—?"</p><p>A monitor beeps in the background, and he fumbles a step when the wires snag beneath his gown, holding him back as he works to untangle them.</p><p>Maria's gone, and when he looks up, Karen has her back to him, facing the hospital wall with squared shoulders.</p><p>Her feet are bare, too. He'd never asked why, coming to his own conclusions later about what happened to her shoes—but it's left some kind of mark on him regardless, this small but vulnerable detail about her.</p><p>He takes a step forward.</p><p>She sees him, but doesn't. He might as well still be chained to the bed, watching this memory of her play itself out in front of him.</p><p>The look on her face is exactly how he'd remembered it. Pained, but not entirely unsurprised by his answer. <em>I don't want to. I don't want to</em>. He wonders when she'd started to expect that from him, letting her down. Letting her think that he didn't—</p><p>The way his voice breaks now when he tries saying her name is exactly as he'd remembered it, too. Telling her that she had no part in this. That he was doing this without her.</p><p>He turns around this time, when she puts on her coat. He thinks about all the things he still wouldn't have said, if Amy hadn't interrupted them.</p><p>"Let's go," Maria whispers in his ear, and she takes his hand again.</p><p>He blinks.</p><p>They're down by the water, this time.</p><p>It's dark, and the wind rising up from the river whips Karen's hair back, bringing a cold red flush to her cheeks. He doesn't even know how long she'd been standing there, waiting for him. Always the one waiting, it seemed.</p><p>Frank can already taste the salt of her tears on his tongue as she implores him to think about afters, how all they're really fighting in the end is to not be alone.</p><p>And in her words, in her voice, Frank hears it—the loneliness in her that's echoing back, calling to him in her struggle not to lose him to another war. How she's been asking him all along, and how all he's done since this moment is give her more reasons to give up on him.</p><p>He doesn't lean in to kiss her this time. He doesn't think he'd be able to walk away from her now if he did.</p><p>Instead, Frank reaches into the dark for Maria. "We done here?"</p><p>"Sorry, babe." She pulls a rueful face at him. The wind goes still, and a dim orange light seeps in to color the shadows. "Just a couple more stops, okay?"</p><p>He smells coffee, next. It cuts through the thick, greasy air of the diner. There's the squeak of vinyl giving underneath them as Maria slides into the booth next to Frank.</p><p>Across the Formica table, Karen is gazing down into her mug. She looks worn, her face bare of any makeup, blonde hair hanging flat against her face.</p><p>Frank thinks about Schoonover going after her, sending those thugs, kidnapping her in her own goddamn car. He wishes he could kill them all over again.</p><p>Maria takes a sip of his coffee. "Do you remember what you told her here?"</p><p>Frank heaves out a sigh. "Fed her some bullshit about Murdock."</p><p>"It wasn't bullshit at the time," Maria points out. "At least not to you. You believed it for a while, actually."</p><p>Frank shakes his head. "Last time I said something to her, in the hospital, I was just making excuses. Trying to get her to leave." He side-eyes Maria, who's looking patiently at him. "But you already knew that, didn't you."</p><p>"I did," she says, and slides the mug over to him. "I just wanted to make sure you knew it, too."</p><p>He watches his memory of Karen as if through a fogged-up window, unable to stop it—how he tore her right open with his dismissive interpretations of her truth.</p><p>He'd thought she was making excuses of her own at the time, talking about how Murdock damaged people, how he broke them. And Frank had kept trying to push and push her back into all that. How did that make him any better?</p><p>"He's not right for her." Frank balls a napkin into his fist.</p><p>Maria drops her chin into her palm, watching him closely. "But you think Curtis is." It isn't a question.</p><p>"I think—" Frank stops. "Whether he is or he isn't, I'm not going to be the guy who stops the two people I have left in this world from being happy. I mean—shit, Maria." He puts his head in his hand, looking over at her. "What if they could have something like this? Like what we had?"</p><p>There's a quiet entreaty in his voice, and he doesn't even know then what he's really asking from her. Whether it's reassurance, or to confirm the truth that he's been dreading.</p><p>Maria rubs her hand over his forearm, squeezing gently down. "What about what she has now?"</p><p>"I don't…" Frank shakes his head.</p><p>"Do you think what you said to her still applies to Matt?"</p><p>"What do you mean?" he asks gruffly. He thinks he knows exactly what she means, but it's force of habit, not wanting to admit it to her.</p><p>"The people that can really hurt you are the ones close enough to do it, right?" Maria gives him a nudge. "Does that sound like someone else we might know?"</p><p>Karen's gaze is caught by something in the window—a flash of headlights dimming on the Buick that's just pulled into the diner. The look she gives Frank is one he deserves, but that doesn't make it any less unbearable to him.</p><p>For all that she'd said about believing in him, that he never lied to her—</p><p>Karen stands, rushing over to warn the waitress.</p><p>Frank puts his hand on Maria, turning his gaze away from the door. "I don't really want you seeing this next part."</p><p>She gives him a smile. It's small, and soft with a pained kind of understanding that damn near breaks his heart. "I know, Frank. I know."</p><p>He watches Karen retreat into the back of the diner, a pair of steel doors swinging closed behind her. Even now, even knowing how this is all going to shake out, a vice around his chest loosens, and he can breathe easier as soon as she's gone from view.</p><p>"I kept her safe," he says. "I kept her safe."</p><p>Maria has her eyes on him, waiting.</p><p>"But there are other ways of letting her get hurt. Of being the one who's—" Frank swallows, mouth dry. "Is that what you've been trying to tell me?"</p><p>"No, sweetheart. It's not." Maria takes his face in both her hands, and everything around them starts to spin and go dark. "The pain comes with the territory. But holding on to the thing that you're close to—even if it hurts you to do it, and it always will, if you get close enough—that's the real choice here, Frank."</p><p>He's in a hospital bed again.</p><p>His whole body feels like it's on fire, and one of his eyes is swollen half-shut. But this is the kind of pain that Frank is accustomed to. This is the kind of pain that doesn't even make him blink.</p><p>Maria is undoing the restraints across his chest, but he could've told her not to bother with them. At that moment, Karen walks in, arm around Murdock's, with Nelson coming up right behind them. Frank finds he couldn't move even if he wanted to.</p><p>He hears Karen gasp. It's small. Almost inaudible, but the rest of the room is deathly still.</p><p>And then—slowly, almost unconsciously, with more meaning than any one of them could possibly know in that moment—Karen lets go of Murdock's hand.</p><p>Frank hadn't recalled even noticing that, before.</p><p>Their eyes meet for a split second. His. Karen's.</p><p>"This is where it starts, for her." Maria gingerly kisses around one of the bruises on Frank's forehead. "Now it's up to you to decide where it's going to end for you, Frank."</p><p>Karen approaches them, eyes blue as the center of two flames. She's reaching for something inside her bag, and Murdock is trying to stop her.</p><p>"I was right about one thing at the diner," says Frank.</p><p>Maria smiles into his temple. "Which thing was that?"</p><p>"You're fucking ruthless." He shakes his head, laughing softly under his breath.</p><p>"So is she," Maria remarks, as Karen pulls out the photo of them. "I like that about her."</p><p>"Yeah." Frank's voice has gone hoarse. "Me too."</p><p>Maria nods. Her hand slips out of his, touching her fingertips up to his mouth when he starts to protest. "Time to get some rest, okay? Think about what I've said."</p><p>Her lips on his forehead is the last thing he feels before drifting off into a deep, and dreamless, sleep.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>He calls her the next day.</p><p>"Hey." Karen picks up on the third ring. She sounds almost breathless, like she'd rushed to answer as soon as she saw who was calling. "Is everything okay?"</p><p>"Yeah." Frank tries to remember the last time he had reached out first, for her to assume something had to be wrong. Why else has he ever called her? "Everything's fine." He takes a breath, and stalls. Clearly he doesn't do this very often.</p><p>There's a noise on her end, a thud of something heavy, and a grunt.</p><p>He frowns. "Now a bad time?"</p><p>"No, not at all." There's a rustle and whoosh of some papers, and then Karen is saying, "Foggy, you need some help over there?"</p><p>"Nope, I'm good," comes Nelson's voice, a little strained. "Where's Matt when you need him to lift heavy objects? We can't all have that vigilante strength."</p><p>"You at work?" asks Frank.</p><p>"Where else would I be?" Karen sounds amused.</p><p>"Wasn't sure if you, uh, had more museums to visit. You know." He grimaces at himself. Nice. Real casual. Shit, when did he get so bad at this?</p><p>"Also work, technically." She's definitely smiling at him now. He can hear it. "Why? You want to check out some art, Frank?"</p><p>Nelson drops something else in the background, but Karen doesn't pay him any mind this time.</p><p>"Nah," says Frank. "I wouldn't—I mean, I'm sure Curt's got that part covered. 'Sides, I'd choose his company over mine any day." He clears his throat. "I was thinking I could help you follow the money on the ground. Whatever that museum's been using their donations for, I could…"</p><p>Karen's gone quiet. He wishes he could see her then, to better read this new silence between them.</p><p>He listens to her breathing deep, listens to her think it over. "I'd like that, Frank," she says finally. "Thank you."</p><p>"Yeah?" He'd half-expected a different answer from her, and can't help the way his tone goes light at the end, almost hopeful.</p><p>"Yeah," she echoes, maybe a little bit teasingly. "Do you have a pen handy?"</p><p>"Hang on." He scrawls out the address she gives him, a warehouse at a shipping yard that she'd dug up in the museum's records.</p><p>"Some of the money has gone into art scholarships for public school systems, and those seem legitimate as far as I can tell. But the rest is supposedly being put toward art restoration, which has been harder to confirm." Karen sighs. "Maybe that's all it is, but some exhibits have been closed more than once in the past several months, and it doesn't explain why those times seem to match up a little too perfectly, almost to the day, with when the donations go through."</p><p>"All right," he says. "I'll see what I can find."</p><p>"One condition, though, Frank."</p><p>"What's that?"</p><p>"Recon only," she tells him, her tone mild but firm. "I just need to know what's going on in that warehouse."</p><p>He has to smirk at that. "How much trouble you think I'm gonna get in, looking at some paintings and shit?"</p><p>She sounds skeptical. "You always seem to find a way."</p><p>"Don't worry." His voice goes gravelly. Sober. She knows better than most that it's never just been him finding a way so much as going off looking for one. "I won't be making any scenes that you or—I don't know, Madani—will have to clean up later. That's not why I'm doing this, Karen."</p><p>"It's not that," she counters quietly. "If you're going to do this, I just…" She trails off. "Just don't get hurt, okay?"</p><p>"Okay," he says. "Okay."</p><p>It's not something he can really promise her, now that he's made his choice. <em>Even if it hurts you to do it</em>. Both hands, right? That's what he'd told Karen. Maybe the most that can come out of this is only more fucking pain, but he'll take it—whatever she's willing to give him. Now that he's going to let himself get close enough, he wants to feel every goddamn thing.</p><p>It isn't perfect. But it's a start.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>He calls her a couple days after that, meaning to tell her what he's found.</p><p>"Frank," she says firmly. "Do you want to get coffee?"</p><p>They meet at a diner up in the Bronx, near his latest construction site. He's grabbed them seats at the counter this time, one of the corner spots so they can still somewhat face each other. Her elbow bumps into his as she sits, removing her coat and her scarf.</p><p>Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and she rubs her hands together as he nods at the waitress, holding up his mug to her.</p><p>"You didn't have to trek all the way up here," he says.</p><p>"I wanted to," replies Karen, simply.</p><p>The waitress comes by with a second mug, filling it up with fresh, hot coffee before topping Frank's off too. Karen wraps her hands around her mug, smiling as Frank slides her the cream and the sugar.</p><p>"Guess we didn't exactly make time for that, before," he says.</p><p>Karen glances archly at him over her mug, and he knows that she understands him—that she's thinking about that night at the diner, what feels like so long ago now. "Really takes you back, huh."</p><p>He snorts out a laugh. "Christ, I hope not." For more reasons than he can voice aloud, so he settles instead for a quiet, careful, "I mean, I'd—I'd like to think at least some things have changed, since then."</p><p>"I think so," she says, sounding serious despite the smile playing around the corners of her eyes. "Unless you have something other than coffee planned this time that you're not telling me about."</p><p>He shakes his head. "I wouldn't do that to you."</p><p>She gives him a look, and he amends, "Not again, anyway."</p><p>"Mm. You better not," she says lightly, with a playful lift of her brows. "For your sake."</p><p>"That right." He grins sideways at her. "Shit, I believe it."</p><p>"Good." She crosses her arms over the countertop, leaning forward a little. Looking relaxed as she runs a hand through her hair, and takes a sip of her coffee. It's so—ordinary, this moment, and all the other moments they could have with each other like this. So wholly unremarkable that it's nothing, and it's everything, to him.</p><p>The waitress comes around with another pot of coffee, setting it down on a hot plate in front of them. She gives Frank a wink, with a knowing side-eye in Karen's direction before going to check on her other customers.</p><p>His ears burn a little, but Karen doesn't seem to have noticed. She pours more coffee into his mug and then hers, forgoing the cream and sugar this time.</p><p>"Was it something I said?" he wants to know, half-teasing.</p><p>She lifts her mug to her lips, eyes bright on his. "Tastes good like this."</p><p>This thing that's called normal—it's not something they've ever done, and yet it feels as though it's always been this way, between them. A kind of life that he'd always been scared to put on, knowing how well—too well—it would fit.</p><p>The knowledge of it can only be painful, now, but then she's stealing another glance at him, and smiling, and looking away, and he wouldn't trade it for anything, the ache of all this.</p><p>"What?" Frank asks, after a drag of his own coffee.</p><p>"Nothing," she says, tucking her chin into her palm. "I don't know. This. It's nice."</p><p>She doesn't have to elaborate for him to catch her meaning. Not when he's been thinking the same thing himself.</p><p>"Yeah," he says. "It is."</p><p>"I could get used to this, if I'm not careful," she says, almost wistfully, like a part of her's already halfway resigned to this as another thing of the past. She trails a fingertip over the rim of her mug, brow furrowing together for a second—no more—before meeting his eye again. "<em>Is</em> this something I can get used to, Frank?"</p><p>He angles himself toward her, so they're no longer looking sidelong at each other as they talk.</p><p>"I'm not going anywhere," he tells her.</p><p>She looks intently at him, then nods. "Okay," she says. Soft. Accepting.</p><p>Her shoulders give a shiver, as if to shake herself a little as she picks up her mug again.</p><p>"You still cold?"</p><p>"No," she says. "Not anymore."</p><p>She scoots her chair in closer to the counter, their knees brushing together for the length of a heartbeat before she's readjusting.</p><p>Her phone gives a ping inside her bag. She throws it a quick glance, but doesn't reach for it.</p><p><em>So, you and Curt, huh</em>. But Frank can't bring himself to say it, to give it a name and ruin the mood, to look her in the eye and have her watch it break him.</p><p>"Anyway," he says, scrubbing a hand across his nape. "You probably wanna hear about the, um—"</p><p>But she's shaking her head, and asking somewhat ruefully, "Do you think we could talk about it in a little bit? Just…kind of want to enjoy this a while longer."</p><p>Their eyes meet, and he nods. "Think I know the feeling," he says, and reaches back for the coffee.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>He goes to group later that week.</p><p>If Curt's surprised to see him there, he doesn't show it—only gives him a quick but warm nod of recognition as Frank slips in a few minutes late, taking a seat close to the door.</p><p>He doesn't speak much. He'd said enough last time, and the irony is not lost on him, all the blood still relatively fresh on his hands from another war that he'd gone and found after.</p><p>The silence had proven too much, back then.</p><p>"Haven't seen you around these parts in a while."</p><p>It takes Frank a moment to realize all eyes in the group have turned toward him. He looks at the man who'd spoken—remembers him, vaguely, from before. Not based off anything specific to his person, but to a story he'd told about trying to reconnect with his daughter, which had resonated with Frank at the time.</p><p>"Yeah," he says now, a bit sheepish. "That memorable, huh?"</p><p>"'Course," replies the man, before jerking a thumb in Curt's direction and saying, "Plus, this guy wouldn't shut up about you finally coming around," to the tune of several others chuckling under their breath in agreement.</p><p>"All right, all right, let's settle," says Curtis. But then he adds, addressing Frank, "Happy to see you back with us, brother."</p><p>"Yeah," says Frank. "Yeah, me too. Been, uh, trying to take someone's advice, and not push away the people who matter."</p><p>"Sounds familiar," says Curt, with a small, meaningful smile. "Glad to hear it."</p><p>"Still scary, though, huh?" asks the other vet knowingly, and Frank laughs almost in spite of himself.</p><p>"You goddamn right it is."</p><p>He grabs a small thing of coffee at the end of the meeting, waiting for Curt to make his rounds. He finishes it off with a grimace, then goes for a refill. It's even more bitter, the second time around.</p><p>"Not bad, right?"</p><p>"'S pretty terrible," says Frank, taking the rest of it down in two gulps and then dumping the styrofoam into the wastebasket Curtis is offering him. "This the shit you've been serving them all this time? Damn."</p><p>"Guess people don't come for the coffee," Curt deadpans.</p><p>"Guess not," says Frank. "C'mon, I'll give you a hand cleaning up."</p><p>Curt collects all the unused cups, storing them back into a box with the napkins. He says, offhandedly, "So, Karen tells me you went to check out that warehouse the other day. Frames packed with heroin, huh."</p><p>Frank folds up a chair, the metal hinging loudly in his silence. "Yeah," he says, after a moment. He'd expected as much, the two of them…talking. "Don't think drug smuggling was what van Gogh had in mind for his work, but what do I know about art."</p><p>"And they're washing that money through these donations, landing it all right back in the museum," muses Curt with a nod. "Nice find."</p><p>"Just trying to help out," says Frank, carrying a stack of chairs over to the wall. "Part of the whole, uh. Sticking around thing."</p><p>Curt clears his throat. "Would've been happy to come with you, you know." There's no discernible accusation in his tone, but it's a near thing. "There's no reason why you gotta go it alone anymore. That's also a part of the whole sticking around thing, in case you weren't aware."</p><p>Frank says, a little too measured to make it come off as entirely casual, "Didn't know if you already had plans."</p><p>He feels Curt's gaze on him as he flattens another couple of chairs. With each passing second, the silence between them seems to grow into something too heavy to bear, and Frank finally sets the chairs down, turning to face it head-on.</p><p>Curt sighs, leans against the fold-out table they'd used for the coffee. He crosses his arms, looks like he's about to make himself comfortable. "Do you want to talk about this, Frank?" He says it kindly, patiently, in a tone that's not intended to press him.</p><p>Frank recognizes it for the offering it is. He nods, crooking a tentative smile at him. "Thanks, man." He swallows with some effort, then looks his friend in the eye and says, "I do, when I'm—ready. I don't know when that'll be, but I'm working on it."</p><p>Curt unfolds himself from the table, coming over to embrace Frank around the shoulder. "That's all that life is, man. Working on it." He clasps Frank's hand in his. "Together, though, all right?"</p><p>"Together," Frank affirms.</p><p>"Tell you what." Curtis steps back. "Why don't we go work on it over a beer? This Friday?"</p><p>"Friday's good." And then, before Frank can second-guess it, "Hey, you should—" His chest tightens, something green and ugly trying to put down roots there. "You should bring Karen," he says, shoving that shit back someplace where the light won't have to fully reach it just yet. "If she's free."</p><p>Curt is looking carefully at him, considering. "You sure?" he says.</p><p>"Yeah," says Frank. Then, more quietly, "It's always good to see her," and that, at least, is something he'll never be able to lie to himself about.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>When Frank thinks about it later, he knows. Left on his own, he was never going to believe he was ready.</p><p>But if he'd waited until then—it's not that he would've been waiting forever.</p><p>It's that he would've been too late to try.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>He hadn't meant to get there early.</p><p>Shit. He hadn't even meant to be on time, but the bar that Curt picked out is not as far of a walk as Frank had realized, and he'd been restless for some kind of movement, would've paced his way up and down half the goddamn Hudson by now if not for all the snow that day.</p><p>He shakes the droplets off of his hood once he's under the awning, cursing when he checks the time. He thinks about grabbing coffee from the place that's right next door, but if he's being honest with himself—trying to, anyway—he's going to need something a hell of a lot stronger.</p><p>He heads inside, winding his way through the crowd to the bar.</p><p>He orders a beer, having to practically yell himself hoarse to be heard over the pound of the music. He tries not to let his gaze wander too often toward the entrance, waiting for Curtis and Karen to show.</p><p>His stomach turns over, hot, and slick, and queasy. He chugs down another gulp of his beer, as if he could wash his thoughts down with it, flood out all that ugly shit from every last one of his nerves.</p><p>He's just ordered another when he feels movement beside him, brushing past his arm to set an empty beer bottle down on the counter.</p><p>"Thought I recognized that voice."</p><p>Frank turns, and thinks he's seeing ghosts for a moment—the light green eyes, the long, dark hair. The crooked half-smile she's giving him now.</p><p>She leans her elbow into the counter. "Hey, rough road."</p><p>"Shit. Beth." He sets his beer down, marveling. "I—" He never thought for a second that he'd ever see her again. He doesn't even know where to start, what to say.</p><p>She's the one to ask him first. "So, how the hell are you?"</p><p>He ducks his head with a laugh, and Beth laughs too, acknowledging, "I'm sure that's a loaded question for both of us, sorry."</p><p>"I'm…alive," he answers finally.</p><p>She looks warmly at him. "I can see that."</p><p>"Maybe more than I can say for the, uh. Last time we saw each other." It should amaze him but doesn't, how easily he can confess this to her. This woman he hasn't seen in a year, who knows both so much and so little about him. Is this all some bizarre hallucination? Is she really here right now?</p><p>"Mm." Beth pretends to think this over for a moment. "You mean more alive than you were when you shot down a bar full of thugs and criminals?"</p><p>"Sounds crazy, but—yeah." He thinks about Karen, all of her warmth and how he'd let it burn him, if he could. How loving her has left him no choice but to know what it feels like, to be alive.</p><p>Frank clears his throat, brings himself back to the here and now. "Arm looks good, by the way," he remarks.</p><p>Beth gives it a demonstrative shrug. "Thanks to you."</p><p>He grimaces. "That's…up for debate." The bartender comes over with a second beer for him then, and Frank picks up Beth's empty bottle. "Another one of these, too. Thanks, man."</p><p>"Ever the gentleman," Beth tells him, teasing.</p><p>He shakes his head. "Listen, I can't believe I'm getting a chance to say this to you, but I'm sorry. About everything." He says it lowly, meaning every word. He doesn't know if this opportunity will come around a second time, and he wants to make it count. "Getting you hurt, leaving you there at the hospital."</p><p>"Hmm. Yeah, you seemed to do a lot of that." She gives him a wry smile. "Leaving, I mean."</p><p>"Wasn't done running, I guess." He turns the bottle over in his hand.</p><p>It's no excuse, but Beth seems to accept his answer for what it is, and nods. "What about now? You find something worth standing still for?"</p><p>Frank takes a swig, thinks over how to put it in words. "Took a while to realize it, but turns out I was going in circles. What I was running from—ended up being the thing I've been trying to, um. You know." He huffs out a laugh. "How'd we make this about me? Anyway, I just want to say that I'm sorry."</p><p>"Water under the bridge, Frank. Besides, I…think we can consider ourselves even." She takes a deep breath, like she's gearing up to say something that's weighed on her, too. Something she never thought she'd get the chance to say to him either.</p><p>He has to lean closer to hear her.</p><p>"I gave him your name," she says. "Your—other name. The man who was looking for you and the girl."</p><p>Frank shakes his head.</p><p>Her breath comes out unsteady this time. "I didn't know what else to do. He was threatening my son, and I—look, I'm just really glad you're—"</p><p>"Hey," says Frank. "C'mere."</p><p>He pulls her in for a hug, folding his arms around her shoulders. She laughs, the sound of it warm against his chest. It feels good, and he lets it, just for a moment.</p><p>He could've seen himself with her, in another life. He <em>had</em> been living another life, back then when they'd met. Not a real one, but not a lie exactly, either. Just one that he'd known wouldn't last. Even back then, he'd never stopped thinking about—</p><p>Still, the fact that he and Beth can come out of all that and not regret it, that small pocket of night that they'd shared before everything had gone to hell…that gives Frank some kind of relief, at least. Relief, and maybe something like hope that wounds do heal, and not everything has to fall apart because he's cared for it in some way.</p><p>He kisses her forehead as he releases her. The silence that falls between them is maybe a little bit awkward, but no less sweet—almost nostalgic—and he smiles somewhat sheepishly as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.</p><p>"How's the kid?" they ask each other at the same time.</p><p>Frank chuckles, and says, "She's good. She, ah. Sends me postcards from Florida, from time to time." He nods at Beth. "How about yours?"</p><p>"He's good, too. He's why we're here, actually. Got this scholarship through some educational charity thing, and—"</p><p>"Art scholarship?" asks Frank, trying to keep his voice even.</p><p>"Music," she corrects him, and he lets out a breath, relaxing into another smile. "God, I think Rex would be so embarrassed if you knew, but he sang with his school choir tonight, for the tree-lighting ceremony."</p><p>"All right," says Frank, impressed. "That's—you must be proud."</p><p>"I am." Beth gives him one last smile. "Anyway, one of the other parents took them ice skating after, and they're probably headed back by now, so I should—you know."</p><p>"Yeah. Of course." He embraces her again, squeezing her arm as he pulls back. "Glad we got to have this. Take care of yourself and the kid."</p><p>Beth is turning to go when her gaze seems to catch on something behind him. Something. Someone.</p><p>"Frank," she says, touching him on the shoulder, and he turns, too.</p><p>"Karen." Her name catches a little, as she walks slowly up to them. He hadn't meant to sound surprised, but she's caught him off guard, in more ways than one. It's the strangeness of processing Beth and her in the present together, when one was his past, and the other his…well. His everything, if not his future.</p><p>And it's the fact that she looks—fuck, she is so beautiful to him. With her hair loose in silken waves, a dark red dress beneath her coat, and with her lips tinged lightly to match, she looks—</p><p>Frank doesn't have a word for it, the way she's looking at him. At them. She comes to a stop about a foot away, her hands clasped firmly together. She doesn't move to take off her coat.</p><p>"Hi," she says.</p><p>"Hey." Frank shifts forward, feeling uncertain. He wants to reach out, touch her arm, but he doesn't. "Sorry. I didn't—I didn't see you."</p><p>Karen's mouth finally turns up at the corners, but the smile doesn't fully reach her eyes. "Were you expecting someone else?"</p><p>He can't read her tone then, either.</p><p>"No," says Frank, forehead creasing. "I wasn't—" He looks at Beth. Shit. "Karen, this is…"</p><p>Beth extends her hand. "Beth. Hi." She tilts her head toward Frank and says, "Seems me and this guy have a habit of running into each other at bars. But it's my turn to be passing through town, so—" She reaches for her coat. "I'll just let you two—"</p><p>"No, please," says Karen, gently protesting. "Don't leave on my account. We're just friends from, um—work."</p><p>He knows she's being careful, that summing up what they are to each other is already an impossible thing as it is. All the same, the way that she says it drops something dark in his chest, heavy and foreboding.</p><p>Frank finds his voice again, lodged somewhere in his throat. He glances behind her and says, "Where's Curt?"</p><p>"Curt," repeats Karen, making it sound almost like a question. She looks up at him. And then her expression seems to alight with a kind of understanding that Frank doesn't share.</p><p>"I just—figured you'd be coming together." Frank frowns. "Is he—?"</p><p>Karen shakes her head. "No, he's fine," she says. She sounds distant, suddenly. Distracted. Withdrawing from him, and taking all of that warmth with her. "I should, um. You know what, I should probably go call him."</p><p>"Okay," says Frank, feeling anything but that.</p><p>Karen looks over at Beth. Something passes between them in the silence, and then Karen gives her a small but soft-looking smile. There's a finality to it, this gesture of goodwill, and she has it all wrong. She—</p><p>"It was nice meeting you," she says.</p><p>"Wait. Karen—" Frank starts forward again, but she holds up her hand to stop him.</p><p>"I'll see you later, okay?"</p><p>She doesn't look at him as she says it. She's already halfway back through the crowd, and he loses her for a moment by the time he's come back to himself long enough to grab his coat.</p><p>His eyes meet Beth's.</p><p>She raises an eyebrow at him and says, "You better go after that girl, or so help me God."</p><p>Frank nods. Glances back at the bartender.</p><p>"Drinks are on me," says Beth, giving him a firm, final push. "Now go."</p><p>He's out the door without another word.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>"Karen."</p><p>She's about to cross the street when he finds her, back turned to him, shoulders drawn forward in the cold.</p><p>"Karen!"</p><p>She stops. He thinks, for one long blistering second, that she's going to keep walking. She's going to keep walking away from him. Instead, she lifts her hand, swiping quickly over her cheek before turning to face him, arms pulled tight around herself.</p><p>She takes a shaky breath as he comes up to her. Her face is dry, but her eyes are red-rimmed, glistening a little in the low lamplight, and it feels as though he's been gutted. "Now's not really a good time, Frank."</p><p>"I can explain." He sways forward. "Please. Let me explain, Karen."</p><p>"Okay," she says. "Maybe you can explain why Curt told me you wanted to meet me here tonight?"</p><p>The world seems to tilt and reel beneath his feet, leaving him untethered with the realization of what this all means. The hair. The dress. The hope. And then seeing him there, arms around Beth, kissing her forehead like it was nothing. It <em>was</em> nothing, but not in the same way that it was to Karen. It was the kind of everything he'd never offered to her.</p><p>"Shit," he says, hanging his head, trying to breathe around the panic, the pulse of it, rising up his chest to his throat. "Karen, I…"</p><p>"It's okay, Frank." <em>It's not. It's not</em>. "You didn't know."</p><p>He holds out his hand for her, just grazing her arm before she's easing gently away from him. "You really thought I was with Curt this whole time?" Her voice has that detached quality to it again, like she's gathering her facts, trying to distance herself from them.</p><p>"Yeah. I did." Fuck. <em>Fuck</em>, he's fucked this all up. The fact that he'd been so wrong about them should be the best goddamn thing Frank's ever heard, but it only deepens the ache, carves out another place for it to settle.</p><p>"I've been such an idiot." Karen closes her eyes, quietly berating. Another tear slips out, and she wipes it hurriedly, frustratedly away. "All this time, I thought we were finally on the same page. About what we wanted." She bites her lip, and he watches it tremble. "And all you were doing was just trying to be a good friend."</p><p>"I didn't know what else to do. I wanted—I want—to be part of your life, Karen." A gust of wind blows back her hair, and he moves with it, just enough to force her gaze back up to his. "And if I can be something more—if you give me a chance to do this thing right, for once—"</p><p>"What? Frank." She lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Two seconds ago, you thought Curt and I were dating, and you were fine with it."</p><p>"There was nothing 'fine' about any of it for me, Karen." His voice strains against the confession behind it, and it takes every last effort not to let it break fully apart. "It was never gonna be fine, all right? But the last thing I wanted was to stand in the way of what could be something."</p><p>She looks at him, unmoving, and he has to do better. He has to <em>be</em> better, for her.</p><p>"If you knew what you mean to me…" Shit, how can he make sure he gets this right the first time? How does he give voice to what's bigger than <em>I love you</em>, comes alive in the very space between each word, transforming them into something more than he could ever say out loud?</p><p>"I guess that's the difference between us," says Karen, shrugging her shoulder a little helplessly at him. "I would've told you if anything had happened between me and Curt. Even without you asking—which you didn't, Frank."</p><p>He nods. It's a painful enough thing to admit to himself, much less to Karen. "I know. I think a part of me just…didn't know if I could handle knowing for sure." As soon as he says it, he knows something else—he doesn't deserve her. He doesn't deserve her, but he never wants to stop trying.</p><p>She's shaking her head at him. "Don't pretend like you made the hard choice here. Sometimes, Frank—" She has to look away for a moment, pressing her hand to her mouth. "Sometimes I think it's actually easier for you to feel pain more than anything else."</p><p>He would've agreed with her, not weeks before. But now he thinks of Maria, what she'd reminded him of in his dream. The pain is never all there is. Not when it's right. Not when it comes from the same place as his love for Karen.</p><p>"And then I saw you tonight, with Beth." Karen gives him a small but determined smile. Soft and supportive, even though it's clearly hurting her to say it. "You deserve someone you can be like that with all the time."</p><p>"No. Karen. You got this all backwards." He can't not be near her anymore. He can't let another moment of this pass without showing her, in every way that he knows how, what she is to him. He steps in close, blocking out as much of the chill as he can. She doesn't move away from him this time, at least. "What you saw back there, it was something I tried once, yeah. But it's a part of my past."</p><p>Karen bites her lip, waiting.</p><p>"Remember—" He drags in a breath, welcoming the cold of it, the sharpness of being alive. "Remember what you told me before, about how all of us are just trying not to be lonely?"</p><p>She nods.</p><p>"Gave it a shot, and it backfired. Turns out I wasn't ready."</p><p>Karen glances behind him, back toward the bar. "Is that what's stopping you now?"</p><p>He waits for her gaze to return to his before answering her. He holds it steady in his own, the way he wishes he could hold her now. Like something to cherish. Like something to just marvel in. "She's not the one I was waiting to be ready for."</p><p>Karen looks like she so desperately wants to believe him, but something is still holding her back.</p><p>"Frank, she called you by your name," Karen reminds him gently. "You didn't want to be Pete to her, and that means something."</p><p>Her phone starts to ring in her bag, but she ignores it.</p><p>"It did. It does. But not like that," says Frank. "Put it this way. You want me to start making a case for why you should be with Curt instead? Or Murdock, even?"</p><p>A real smile tries to break free from her this time, and it's one of the most beautiful things Frank has ever seen. "Fair point," she concedes. "I was getting a little tired of hearing that from you."</p><p>"Yeah, I take back everything I ever said about the guy," says Frank. "He's not good enough for you, Karen."</p><p>"Hm." She tilts her head at him. "Are you trying to say that you are?"</p><p>"No. I know I'm not," he tells her, point-blank. "But I think—I know—that I'm right for you. And you're the one for me. You're it." He has to shove down every instinct telling him not to look directly at her as he says it, not to make himself any more vulnerable that way. But that's not what Karen deserves. "If you're willing to give me a chance, I. I'm gonna do everything I can to make it right for you."</p><p>She silences her phone when it rings a second time, her gaze never leaving his. Her eyes are bright, and the way she's looking at him, Frank feels like he's finally gotten one goddamn thing right. And it's her. It's Karen.</p><p>"You don't want to get that?" he asks her.</p><p>She bites back another smile, shaking her head. "No," she says. "I don't."</p><p>Frank thinks he may never be able to look away from her again. He thinks he may never want to.</p><p>He takes that final step toward her. She's the breadth of a heartbeat away from him now, the hitch of a single shared breath as he lifts his hand to her cheek. "I need you to know. It's not about the pain, Karen." She shivers at the chill of his fingers, but leans into his touch all the same. "With you, I feel—I feel everything."</p><p>"Yeah," she says quietly. "I think I know the feeling, too."</p><p>Slowly, drawn to her like something inevitable, he lowers his forehead to hers. She puts her hand on his chest, and he closes his eyes, and just lets his breath shake out of him, finding a new kind of steadiness in the way that he's touching her. Holding her. Not letting go.</p><p>They sway together as the snow flurries around them. He feels a lightening within his chest unlike anything he's experienced before, expanding inside him until his ribs might crack from the ache of this thing, the hope, the healing.</p><p>"Truth is," says Frank, "I've loved you so long I don't even know how to start talking about it."</p><p>"Frank…" She raises her hand, resting it gently over the side of his face. It sends a shudder through him that has nothing to do with the cold. Karen's touched him in so many ways before, in fear, in grief, in comfort, and in places that he'd thought long closed off to things like tenderness, things like love.</p><p>But she's never touched his face. She's never put a hand on his cheek, traced her fingers over his jawline. He's thrown by the newness of it, being touched like this by someone he's probably been in love with for as long as he's known her. It's a level of intimacy he hasn't felt since Maria, and it hurts, <em>fuck</em> does it hurt.</p><p>Frank only moves closer to her.</p><p>He feels Karen's exhale, warm as any caress on his skin. Their noses touch.</p><p>And then her phone rings a third time, and she sighs, shifting reluctantly in his arms.</p><p>"I hate to say this," he murmurs, "but maybe you should get that."</p><p>"Mm." She twists around to reach into her bag, and he presses his nose to her hair, breathing in the chilled scent of her shampoo. Something floral and woodsy. Now that he's started, he doesn't ever want to stop touching her in some way.</p><p>"Hey," she speaks into the phone. There's a question in the way she says it—not someone she'd been expecting, but not someone she's altogether surprised to hear from either. "Tonight? Now?" She pauses, then says, "Okay, see you there," and hangs up.</p><p>"What is it?" Frank catches her expression, and frowns.</p><p>"That was Brett," she tells him, regretfully. "They're raiding the warehouse tonight."</p><p>"All right," he says. Easy. "I'm coming with you."</p><p>She levels him with a look. "And say hi to your old friends at the NYPD?"</p><p>He shrugs. "I could find a rooftop somewhere."</p><p>"Tempting," says Karen dryly. "But not necessary. I'll be fine, Frank. You know that."</p><p>He does. Truthfully, it's more out his own selfish desire not to be apart from her right now. He doesn't know where this break in the evening leaves them, and he doesn't know how to ask without—shit. He hasn't done this in a long time.</p><p>"I'd like to, um." He clears his throat. "When can I see you again?"</p><p>"Well," says Karen, glancing down, "I could probably use a drink. After."</p><p>Tonight had felt like too much to hope for, but maybe that's something he can let himself get used to, with Karen. "Should I meet you somewhere?"</p><p>She looks up at him, wondering, as if a part of her still has to question whether any of this is actually real. It's a feeling Frank can relate to. "My place?" she suggests finally. "I don't know how long I'll be, but you can, um. Let yourself in. Or I could call you, or—"</p><p>"I'll be there," he says.</p><p>And the sooner that she has to go, the sooner they can get back to this. Holding this new kind of warmth, this softer, deeper understanding, between them.</p><p>Frank releases her slowly, taking her carefully by the hand instead. He gives her a gentle tug toward the crosswalk.</p><p>She looks at him, amused. "What are you doing?"</p><p>"Walking you to the train," he says. Her fingers are freezing, and he tucks their joined hands into his coat pocket. "That all right?"</p><p>Karen turns, tilting her chin up to lay the softest kiss on his cheek, and in that single, wordless moment, he feels everything shift, and settle, and still.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>He almost grabs flowers on the way.</p><p>The snow isn't sticking—it's a good ten degrees too warm for that—so he walks. He walks, and thinks about Karen, the quiet heat of her hand in his, her lips on his skin, and he nearly doubles back toward the train to go after her.</p><p>But the last thing he needs is to start this all off by not respecting what she's asked of him. So he carries on walking, and letting the thought of her linger, and linger.</p><p>He ends up at the bodega around the corner from her building. It's the same as he'd remembered it, save for the thick scent of pine in the air, trees roped up and crowding the sidewalk as he winds his way around to the flowers.</p><p>The last time he'd been to Karen's place, he'd only stayed long enough to ask her his favor, and barely touch the beer that she'd offered him. He thinks of how she'd embraced him back then, rocking his center of gravity sideways. At the time, Frank hadn't allowed himself to wonder if it was the fact that she had reached for him, or the fact that she had let him go.</p><p>Frank gives the roses a once-over. And then his gaze slides to the tiny potted Christmas trees, spruces and pines barely reaching one foot tall.</p><p>He doesn't know how long these are actually supposed to keep for, but it feels symbolic enough. They're the kind of thing that's meant to grow. The kind of thing that's meant to last.</p><p>He pays for a squat little Nordic spruce, and tucks it carefully into his jacket to protect it on the remaining walk home.</p><p>It's a climb, to get up to her apartment, though certainly not the most hazardous one he's ever attempted. He manages to swing his way up the fire escape to Karen's window with the tree in one hand, jimmying the lock and letting himself in. He sets the small evergreen on the sill, half-drawing the curtains around it so Karen can see it from the street and know that he's inside.</p><p>He switches on a lamp by her couch, surveying what he can see in the low light. Normally he wouldn't hesitate to case the whole place, but that would feel invasive, now, and besides that there's no imminent threat. For once, he's here, and it's just going to be this. Them.</p><p>Frank draws in a breath and sits down on the couch.</p><p>His trigger finger twitches against his knee, once, twice. He reaches for a small stack of newspapers on her coffee table, thumbing through them with a cursory glance at each headline. He'd never paid much attention to what the papers reported about him, but it occurs to him now that he's never going to make another front page.</p><p>It brings him a sense of peace to know this, a kind of restful quiet—but it's a quiet that he thinks must have been there with him for some time already, just waiting for him to finally listen.</p><p>He leans back, sinking deeper into the couch. He flips to the local crime section, Karen's old stomping grounds.</p><p>She doesn't write as much anymore, and he misses that. Squeezing into the corner booth of some diner with a fresh pot of coffee and the latest Bulletin, reading her work, feeling connected to her in that way.</p><p>But he won't have to rely on burner phones and newspaper clippings to be close to her anymore.</p><p>He's sitting here, on her couch, waiting for her to come home.</p><p>And while he can still barely believe that it's happening, it feels so easy, so right, that he wonders how he'd never done it before.</p><p>He sheds his coat, refrains from propping his feet up on her coffee table. Tucks a pilllow under his arm. It smells like her shampoo, and he pictures her resting her head there, hair splayed out soft as silk.</p><p>Frank closes his eyes.</p><p>And then he hears a sound at the door.</p><p>It's not the noise itself that has him on instant alert, so much as what he doesn't hear. The click of Karen's heels on the floor. A rustling bag, the jangling sound of her keys in the lock.</p><p>Besides that, it's too soon for her to be home, and leaving early from the warehouse is just not something that she would do.</p><p>The warehouse.</p><p>Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me, Frank thinks, and groans inwardly.</p><p>If the councilman's sent someone after Karen, it's going to be the last thing he or anyone ever does.</p><p>Frank would wager that she'd taken her .380, even on a date with him, so he doesn't bother looking for it—doesn't have the time, anyway. Instead, he slips into the kitchen area, pulling a knife from the block on her counter. He sidles over to the corner wall of the foyer and crouches, peering around at her door.</p><p>The lighting from the outer hallway seeps through enough to illuminate the shadow of someone, standing just on the other side. Frank tightens his grip on the knife. He waits for the sound of the knob being turned, the lock being picked, but it doesn't come.</p><p>Instead, the shadow backtracks. And there's the sound of a shotgun being cocked.</p><p>Frank dives sideways just in time.</p><p>The first blast takes a chunk out of the wall across from him. The second hits the spot right where his head had just been, and he's tasting plaster in the air, and something sharply metallic as he lunges out of the way, pressing his back against the side of a bookshelf.</p><p>He waits.</p><p>He strains to listen for footsteps, hears them growing fainter with each passing shot. It doesn't makes sense—unless they're not here to hurt her, but to send her a message. Maybe they know that she's not here. Maybe they know that she's—</p><p>Frank leans his weight off the bookshelf, his breath rising hard. He has to kill this guy. He has to kill this guy, and then he has to get to Karen.</p><p>He staggers a little, his foot feeling heavy. Fuck.</p><p>He doesn't hear anything out in the hallway now, but that could be the ringing in his ears, drowning out all other sound.</p><p>He looks down, and lifts his hand from his side.</p><p>Could be that too, he thinks.</p><p>Somewhere, down on the floor, there's the thud of the knife, which he has no recollection of dropping.</p><p><em>Karen</em>.</p><p>He uses his other hand to grasp for his phone, blood smearing over the screen when he tries to unlock it. It slips between his fingers, and he leans his back against the good part of her wall to brace himself as he slides down to retrieve it.</p><p>The phone starts to vibrate. The screen goes bright, and he stares at it for one incomprehensible moment, Karen's name swimming and blurring as he blinks, and blinks, trying to clear out his vision.</p><p>He reaches and, with some effort, presses the green button. He doubles over, getting his face close so she'll be able to hear him.</p><p>"Karen," he rasps into the phone. "You okay?"</p><p>"Frank?" he hears her say, immediately on alert. "What's wrong?"</p><p>"Don't—come back here." He grits his teeth against the new, shooting pain in his side. "Don't come home."</p><p>"What's going on? Are you hurt?" Karen's voice sounds far, far away. He tries to follow it, but he can't pin down where it's coming from anymore, where he is, or what all the steps are, all the steps involved in getting to her one last time.</p><p>He has to tell her. One last time.</p><p>"Karen," he says. "I…"</p><p>He puts his head against the floor. It's cool to the touch. Everything down here spinning just a little bit less.</p><p>"Frank?" she says into the silence. Panicked. Hurting. The last thing he'd ever wanted for her.</p><p><em>Don't come home</em>, he tries to say. He closes his eyes. <em>Promise me. Please.</em></p><p>"Frank, stay with me, okay? Frank? <em>Frank</em>—"</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>He sees her.</p><p>Feels her, really. Their foreheads together. Bodies pressing out all the cold winter air between them.</p><p>He should've kept on holding her.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>There's silence.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>And then—something else. The sound of glass, he thinks.</p><p>It breaks, and it breaks, and it breaks.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>"Frank."</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>He reaches for some memory of her. Anything that makes her feel solid. Makes her feel real.</p><p>It had been real. For those ten perfect minutes they had on the sidewalk, it had been so real to him.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>"Frank."</p><p>Her voice sounds closer, this time. Warmer, and warmer.</p><p>Karen.</p><p>He feels her hands on his face, and they're shaking a little. They cradle his chin, his neck. Her fingers are careful but firm on his pulse point.</p><p>"Hey," he tries to say, but she shushes him gently.</p><p>"It's okay," she says. "It's okay, Frank. It's going to be okay."</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>There's another pair of hands. Lifting his shirt, checking his wound.</p><p>The pain is something excruciating, but above him, somewhere, is Karen's voice again. His world narrows to that one singular sound.</p><p>"This is all my fault," she's saying.</p><p>"You know it's not like that," says another voice. "And you know it won't do you or him any good to tell yourself that right now."</p><p>Frank groans, manages out a hoarse-sounding, "Curt?"</p><p>"Hey, buddy. I'm here. Hang in there, okay?"</p><p>There's more prodding, more pain. But Frank doesn't feel any of that anymore. He feels one thing, and it's the hollow recognition of the way Karen had said it. <em>This is all my fault</em>.</p><p>It's the sound of her making a choice. It's the sound of her slipping away.</p><p>He hears fabric ripping. It pulls tight around his midsection, but he welcomes it, breathes into the pain instead of around it this time.</p><p>"This is going to hurt," Curtis warns him.</p><p>And then gravity is shifting away from him as he's lifted. Curt on one side of him. Karen on the other. Her hand on his chest. Her hair on his shoulder. Lilac, and clove.</p><p>Glass crunches beneath their feet as they haul Frank to the door. It's slippery, and he smells alcohol now. Wine, maybe.</p><p>Curt is asking, "How much of a head start did your friend give us? Mahoney?"</p><p>"Enough," replies Karen, grimly determined.</p><p>Frank turns, tries to tell her. He's going to be all right. He has to be, now. For her.</p><p>He rests his forehead into her temple. Breathes. Feels her lean into him, pressing back, just enough.</p><p>He loses consciousness somewhere between her door and the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Frank opens his eyes.</p><p>He blinks against the onslaught of sunlight. A warm breeze stirs around him, carrying with it the scents of browned sugar, and buttery popcorn. The sounds of laughter, too. Warmth. Joy.</p><p>Ahead of him, there's a woman with her back turned, ordering ice cream from one of the trucks. He feels a twinge of something in his chest. An unbearable lightness. A knowing.</p><p>She looks over her shoulder, as if she'd heard him speak.</p><p>She's young. In her late teens, maybe. She has long brown hair, and a kind, pretty face. Eyes that are so painfully familiar to him it's like looking into a mirror, and not letting himself look away.</p><p>And that smile—</p><p>That smile is all her mother.</p><p>His voice cracks, and nearly splits open. "That my baby girl?"</p><p>Lisa sets her cone down. "Hi, Dad."</p><p>He makes a scoffing noise, trying to cover the way he can't quite seem to take in a full breath. "What happened to Daddy? You getting too old to call me that now?"</p><p>"Fine. Hi, Daddy," she corrects herself with a smile. Then she gestures to the truck and says, "You want one? My treat."</p><p>They take their cones and start walking. Frank would've preferred to just sit for a while, take all of this in while he can. But every time he thinks to pause, some kind of dream force keeps pushing him forward. Besides that, Lisa had always paved her own path, and he'd never be one to stand in the way of that.</p><p>She links her arm through his, helping to anchor him to this moment. He's not sure how long it'll last, but he's not letting a second of it get away from him.</p><p>"So," he says. "This is you, huh."</p><p>"And this is you?" she echoes back. Simple, but pointed.</p><p>Frank looks askance at her, brow raised. "Not gonna pull any punches today, are you. Shoot, when I'm already down and you know it."</p><p>Lisa shrugs, and says, "Wonder who I learned that from."</p><p>He smirks. "Your mom, probably."</p><p>Lisa giggles at that, and Christ how he has missed that sound. "That's true," she admits. "Okay, so maybe I got it from both of you."</p><p>He musses a hand through her hair, smiling at her when she protests. "There are worse things you could've inherited from me," he tells her.</p><p>"Also true," Lisa agrees.</p><p>"Hey," he protests, and she laughs again, reaching meaningfully over to tweak his bent-up nose the way she used to do when she was younger. He wrinkles it at her. "All right, all right. You've made your point."</p><p>He gets it now, why they're walking like this—side by side, while looking ahead. She's sparing him the heartache of having to gaze at her directly, allowing only the occasional sideways glance to slip through. Keeping him in motion, to keep him from breaking down.</p><p>Lisa nudges him then. "Frankie's been wanting to know who that pretty blonde lady is."</p><p>"Jesus," Frank laughs under his breath, feeling his eyes burn a little. And he is breaking apart, slowly—but there's something liberating in it, too.</p><p>"So," she says, in a perfectly innocent tone that he doesn't buy for a second. "What are you going to do after you wake up?"</p><p>"We really talking about that right now?" He shakes his head at the expression on Lisa's face. The very spitting image of her mother, in this moment. "Ask Karen to stay. What else can I do?"</p><p>"You think she won't?"</p><p>"I think—" He pauses to give Lisa a look. Is he about to get love advice from his teenage daughter? "I think Karen's like me. She's gonna blame herself for this, thinking it's on her that I got shot."</p><p>"And push you away?" Lisa asks, skeptical and not even bothering to be subtle about it. Teenagers. "You mean like you did to her?"</p><p>It fucking guts him just to think about it as an option—and if Karen felt even a fraction of this back when he'd done it to her…</p><p>"No," he concedes after a moment. "You're right. She wouldn't do that." He sighs. "Think a part of her would rather let the guilt eat her alive than hurt me like that."</p><p>"But she knows that that would hurt you now," Lisa points out. "I don't think you're realizing how important that is for her. This isn't a one-sided thing anymore. You're both in it now."</p><p>Frank lets out a low, humorless laugh. "Soon as I tell her how I feel, some guy tries to come after her." He scrubs a hand over his face. "No, I know you're right, I just—wish we'd gotten off to a better start."</p><p>Lisa—his girl, his sweet, beautiful girl—stops in her tracks. She looks at him so witheringly he doesn't know whether to laugh about it, or to feel his heart break all over again at the fact that they'll never have this.</p><p>"What?" Frank asks her finally.</p><p>"Come on, Dad." She boxes him in the arm, ignoring his muttered, "Back to Dad again, huh?"</p><p>"Story actually started a long time ago," she tells him rather sternly. "Get with the program."</p><p>"Get with the program," Frank repeats.</p><p>"I said what I said." She crosses her arms and stares him down. Her mother's daughter, through and through.</p><p>But then she cracks a grin at him, snuggling up against his side as he puts his arm around her shoulders and squeezes. They resume walking, circling around a large fountain and climbing some steps toward a bridge.</p><p>He doesn't see Karen, but he feels the pull of her suddenly—as if she's there on the other side of consciousness, waiting for him to return to her.</p><p>Frank stops walking, and the dream lets him this time.</p><p>"Something's still bothering you," Lisa notes.</p><p>He swallows. He doesn't know how to say this out loud when he's barely been able to admit as much to himself. "I've been dreaming about you guys less and less."</p><p>She nods. "Yeah, I know."</p><p>He hangs his head, feeling chastened. "I'm sorry. I need you know to it's not that I love or miss you any less, sweetheart."</p><p>"Yeah," she says. "I know that, too."</p><p>"I just—" Frank turns, resting his arms over the stone wall of the bridge. "The pain is less, some days, and I don't want to forget it. I'm scared to forget it, and what it could mean, for remembering you."</p><p>He forces his gaze up to hers. His vision blurs, then clears as she leans her elbows against the wall with him.</p><p>They stare out over the bridge together. The sun has started to set, but when it hits the water just right, it still blinds him momentarily.</p><p>"Maybe you're dreaming less," says Lisa, "but the dreams have changed. They're not the horrible ones they used to be. Aren't you allowed to remember more things than just pain?" She shrugs then, and offers, "I think it means your memories are growing with you, not fading away. There's a difference."</p><p>Frank shakes his head. "Goddamn," he says. "You always were smarter than me."</p><p>"No, Daddy," she disagrees kindly. "You just don't give yourself enough credit."</p><p>They walk on, past the bridge and onto a winding dirt path. Frank squints up ahead, but he can't tell where it's supposed to lead. He does see people—well-dressed and walking with slow but steady purpose through a break in the trees. The path they're on will lead them just past it, but then it turns off at an angle, heading in the opposite direction.</p><p>Frank gestures at the people ahead. They're still far enough away that he can only guess at the occasion. "This gonna be someone's wedding or funeral?" He knows how other versions of this story have gone.</p><p>"I'm not sure," Lisa says honestly. "Does it matter?" She glances up at him. "Would you let it change your mind about what you want?"</p><p>He thinks about Karen, and knows his answer. "No," he says. "No. Not anymore."</p><p>Lisa looks somberly at him. And then she leans over and, very primly, gives his earlobe an affectionate tug. "Proud of you, old man."</p><p>"Let's just keep walking, yeah?" He pretends to twist away from her, laughing. "See where it takes us."</p><p>He takes another step forward.</p><p>But the path seems to dissolve beneath his feet, a little bit more of it chipping away with each second.</p><p>He turns back to Lisa, his heart nearly wrenching in two. He knew that this would have to end, but he was never, could never be ready, to leave her. "This the part where you have to go?"</p><p>He's half-expecting her to start disappearing along with the rest of the dream. Instead, Lisa looks at him and says, simply, "No." She smiles at him. "I'm coming with you, remember? Always."</p><p>She takes his hand.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>When Frank opens his eyes again, it's to a darkly lit room. He peers blearily up at the ceiling, then over to the window, the door. None of them are familiar to him.</p><p>And then he turns, and Karen is there, curled up in a chair next to him. She's resting with her head in her hand, elbow propped up on a bedside table. The sight of her like this, and the ache it calls up, are both so familiar to him that he can't believe he's here again, brought back to life with her by his side.</p><p>He tries shifting closer, and a fire erupts in his side. He grunts, half out of pain and half out of surprise—he'd forgotten this part of it, somehow, the reason why they were even here. Curt's place, he's guessing now.</p><p>Karen stirs at the sound, and then she's leaning over him, blinking through her drowsiness as she says quietly, urgently, "Frank?"</p><p>His hand finds her arm. Grazes his knuckles over her skin. He feels her relaxing to his touch, but her gaze is still careful on his, looking him worriedly over.</p><p>All he can think is how beautiful she is to him.</p><p>He opens his mouth, but everything's dry, too hoarse to form any meaningful sounds. Karen retrieves a glass of water from the nightstand, helping him up to take a long swallow.</p><p>Finally, he looks at her, and rasps, "What're you doing over there on that thing?"</p><p>She looks at him back with a kind of relieved incredulity. "Well, I was trying to get some sleep," she tells him. "But someone had other ideas."</p><p>He finds himself smirking at her. "That right?"</p><p>She makes a small noise of disbelief, but he imagines she's trying hard not to smile, and wishes he could see her better. Wonders if she might be blushing.</p><p>The thought makes him smile, too.</p><p>"You should get some more rest," she scolds him mildly. But she lets him take her hand when he reaches for it, twining their fingers together. "Curt got everything out, but you lost a decent amount of blood."</p><p>Frank glances down for the first time, taking stock of his bandages. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he says lowly. "Haven't done this without the vest in a while."</p><p>"You haven't had to," says Karen. He looks at her sharply. "I'm not saying I want you to go back to that, Frank, but you were only there because I asked you to be. If Curt hadn't answered his phone—if we hadn't gotten to you in time, I—"</p><p>"Hey. Don't do that." He stares hard at her, voice shaking with the effort. "Don't you do that, Karen." He tries shifting his weight onto his elbow, to get a better look at her, but the fire shoots up his spine with the movement. It has him wincing audibly enough for Karen to frown and reach for a switch on the nightstand.</p><p>She eases him back against the pillow, haloed by the soft new glow of the lamplight. He takes her in for a moment, and feels his breathing settle again.</p><p>"I was there," he tells her, "because I wanted it." God, if he could only get her to understand just how much. "I want you. Still do. This changes nothing for me."</p><p>Karen looks down, shoulders braced for some kind of impact. "The people I care about, Frank, they…they tend to get hurt. Or leave. Or both." She gives him a rueful sort of smile. The irony of this is not lost on her either. "Feels selfish, asking you to be okay with those odds."</p><p>"Then let me be the selfish one, yeah?" Frank hauls himself up again, gritting his teeth against the pain this time. "Hey," he says. "I'm the one asking, okay?"</p><p>Her expression softens as he sways forward, entreating. "I'm the one asking. Please." He takes their joined hands, lifts hers up to his mouth. He presses a kiss there, light and trembling. "Stay."</p><p>She bites her lip, eyes watered blue and gazing a little wonderingly at him. The full brunt of it hits him then—that his loving her, that his <em>wanting</em> to love her, is just as powerful a revelation to her as she is to him.</p><p>Lisa was right, he thinks.</p><p>Karen untangles her fingers from his, just enough to touch the side of his face. He lets his hand slide down to her wrist, closing gently over her forearm.</p><p>"Okay," she says finally. "Okay."</p><p>He turns into her palm, kissing the inner part of her wrist.</p><p>"So," she says, her voice full of meaning. "We're really doing this."</p><p>"Yeah," he affirms hoarsely. "We are. That okay with you?"</p><p>She ducks her head with a soft hum of a laugh, and he leans back, allowing himself a more leisurely perusal of her now.</p><p>She tilts her head at him, still smiling. "What?"</p><p>"Nothing." He gives her a crooked grin. "Been wanting to get a better look at you in that dress."</p><p>"That's it," she says, with a good-natured roll of her eyes. "You're going back to sleep. I mean it, Frank." She looks sideways at him. "You can see the dress in the morning."</p><p>"All right," he says obligingly, as she reaches for the light. But he catches the pleased little flush to her cheeks just in time before the room is in relative darkness again.</p><p>She starts to pull her hand back, but he holds steady, feeling her look questioningly at him.</p><p>"Come to bed, Karen."</p><p>He heard the hitch in her breath, and then she's squeezing his hand before letting go. He senses more than sees her move around to the other side of the bed, and he shifts to make room, lifting the blanket for her to climb under.</p><p>There's a moment—a few breathless seconds of feeling the ache grow and grow—and then they're coming together, his arms folding around her like this is how they've always belonged.</p><p>She curls up against him, palm on his chest, careful to leave his injured side untouched. Her shoulders rise and fall beneath him as he circles a hand around her head, kissing her hairline, breathing her in.</p><p>He lets his other hand roam more freely—a kind of reassurance that this isn't all a dream too, the quiet warmth of her on his skin, the way her spine curves into his touch.</p><p>He shifts himself gingerly, turning onto his side in painstaking increments. Frank wants to feel her in every way that he can, all of her, with all of him. He wants—</p><p>Karen sighs, and he stills, caught out. "Where do you think you're going?"</p><p>He slumps onto his back again, grateful she can't see his grimace of pain. "Thought I'd give it a shot, anyway."</p><p>He feels her smile into his shoulder. "Hey," he says gruffly, "let me see that," and he moves his free hand to cradle her jawline.</p><p>He brushes a thumb over her lower lip as she returns the favor, fingertips pressed to his cheek, his mouth. It makes him burn with another kind of longing, these intimate ways they're touching each other.</p><p>"Haven't even gotten to kiss you yet," he murmurs.</p><p>"Mm." She snuggles closer. "I think we've had other things on our mind."</p><p>"Yeah?" He raises an eyebrow. "Speak for yourself."</p><p>"Fine," says Karen, and she's leaning up to kiss him playfully on the cheek when he turns into her, pressing their noses together.</p><p>She gazes at him through half-lidded lashes, lips parting a little, like she's about to say his name.</p><p>He tilts her chin up, and the air goes thin and shallow between them. Slowly, he lowers his mouth to hers.</p><p>He kisses her carefully at first—the barest graze of his lips against hers, just letting the feel of her overwhelm his senses for a moment. He shifts a little, and then he slants his mouth sideways to deepen the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue.</p><p>She makes a soft sound in her throat, pressing him back, sliding her tongue together with his at a slow, exquisite pace. He ignores the small jolts of pain in his side as he tries to edge closer, a headier kind of heat building between them.</p><p>He wraps his arm around her shoulders as she gingerly slides her way up his body, coaxing him onto his back again. Her hair curtains around either side of his face. He weaves his fingers through the strands, cupping her cheek, the back of her head, and kissing her, and kissing her.</p><p>He lets out a low groan as she pulls away slightly. She puts a hand over his fast-beating heart, and kisses him one last time. "Sleep now," she whispers. "Okay?"</p><p>He makes a disgruntled sound, but tilts himself forward, just enough to brush his mouth over the soft slope of her shoulder. "Okay," he says, settling in.</p><p>She nudges herself back down, resting her head against his chest.</p><p>He traces the lines of her bare arm, the arch of her back beneath the sheets. "Don't want to wake up from this."</p><p>Karen looks up. He feels her words against his skin, a kiss and a vow all in one. "It's real now, Frank. We're here."</p><p>
  <em>We're here.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>She's not there when he wakes up.</p><p>He hadn't been dreaming, and so he comes to slowly, at a kind of languid pace he hasn't felt in a long, long time. He's reaching for her before he's even opened her eyes.</p><p>"Karen?"</p><p>He sits up way too fast, uttering a quiet but emphatic <em>Fuck</em> as he nearly pulls out a stitch in his side.</p><p>"Steady there, soldier." Curt is standing in the doorway, whisking some eggs in a bowl. "Karen went to her place to change. She'll be back. She wanted to wait, but." He looks at Frank and adds, "You know it's past noon, right?"</p><p>"That why you making me breakfast?" asks Frank. "Big step for us."</p><p>"Coffee's in the pot," says Curt, "unless you need more beauty rest," and he disappears back down the hallway.</p><p>Now that he's up, Frank looks down at his bandages, picking experimentally at one corner. It's a four-by-four piece of gauze, which he's not pleased to see. It had seemed much more dire, last night in the dark. Karen had watched him fucking faint over this?</p><p>He peels back one edge, meaning to get a better look underneath.</p><p>"By the way," he hears Curt calling from the kitchen. "Don't even think about messing around with your dressing. Already changed 'em out once this morning. Not gonna do it again."</p><p>Frank concedes—it's a silent concession, at least—and goes to wash up instead.</p><p>Ten minutes later, he's in the kitchen with Curt, slouching over a barstool and taking a grateful sip of his coffee. He finds his gaze wandering to the oven clock more than once, and wonders what time Karen had left.</p><p>"So," he says. "You let her go back there alone?"</p><p>"In case you haven't noticed," says Curt, "she's a grown-ass woman." He pours out a mug for himself as well. "But no, I didn't. Place is crawling with cops now. She said Sergeant Mahoney was going to meet her there, make sure none of his guys barked up any, uh—trees bearing a strong resemblance to the Punisher."</p><p>Frank snorts. "I'm sure he was happy about that."</p><p>"You should be sure to thank him," says Curt a little sternly.</p><p>"I'll send him a fruit basket," Frank deadpans.</p><p>"You know," says Curt, spooning some scrambled eggs onto a plate in front of him, "you were better off at a hospital. But Mahoney wouldn't've been able to vouch for you then." He gives Frank a pointed look over his coffee. "You're lucky she's got more than one friend on speed dial."</p><p>Frank ducks his head, huffing out a small laugh. "And I don't. I get it. You're the one friend I got, Curt."</p><p>"And you were cutting it pretty close there too, for a while."</p><p>"Yeah." Frank looks down at his mug. "Listen, I'm—sorry, about everything. How I acted around you, around Karen. I was being a coward, and I own up to that."</p><p>Curt hands him a plate of eggs and some hot sauce. "We're all right. You know we are."</p><p>"Look," says Frank. "It goes without saying, but—saying the thing is something I clearly need more practice doing, so. Thank you. For patching me up, and for…what you did for me and Karen, last night."</p><p>"Gotta admit," says Curt, "this—" and he makes a broad gesture with his forkful of egg, "—was not really what I had in mind for your first date with her."</p><p>"Well," says Frank, pulling a face, "all things considered, it could've gone a lot worse." He spears up some egg, guzzles more coffee. After a moment, he swallows his pride down with his breakfast, and says, "Can I ask you something?"</p><p>"Always."</p><p>Frank takes a breath. "You never thought about—?" He breaks off, looks down. "You know. Karen."</p><p>"What?" Curt laughs. "Asking her out?" His expression sobers a little. "Not gonna lie, man. I did—for about two seconds. But I would've talked to you about it first, you know. Asked for your blessing." A mischievous glint returns to his eye. "Then you came for coffee that day, and you were so gone, man. Wasn't even a question."</p><p>"Wasn't that bad," says Frank a little defensively.</p><p>Curt squints at him. "D'you hit your head before you went down last night?"</p><p>Frank balls up a napkin and tosses it across the counter.</p><p>"Nah," dismisses Curt with a laugh, dodging him easily. "A bullet couldn't even get through your thick skull, so I doubt that was it."</p><p>Frank is forking up some more egg when the doorbell rings. He stands as Curt comes around the counter, crossing over to the living room. Frank stops short when he sees the tree in the corner, looking cheerful with its lights and tinsel and ribbons of garland.</p><p>"Shit," he says. "Is it Christmas?"</p><p>"Is it Christmas," Curt repeats, shaking his head as he goes to the entrance. "Two days away now, buddy." He opens the door and says, "Hey. Everything good?"</p><p>"Yeah," says Karen, stepping inside. Her eyes find Frank's across the room. "Brett sends his regards."</p><p>"Does he," says Frank, smirking a little.</p><p>"Well," she amends with a smile, "not in so many words." She thanks Curt as he offers to go hang up her coat.</p><p>She's in another dress today, this one a dark shade of blue that seems to ripple with its own kind of movement from certain angles. Her eyes look even bluer than usual when she glances over at him, and Frank almost misses what she's said as she slips out of her shoes and steps into the living room.</p><p>"You said they caught him? The guy who shot your place to hell?"</p><p>"I think he did a little more than that," says Karen. "But yeah—he didn't make it far. And after they IDed him, they were able to link him with several recent donations to the art restoration fund. Between that and the warehouse raid, Matt says the councilman's basically done for."</p><p>Frank nods. "Didn't make it far, huh."</p><p>"Not if Matt could help it," Karen says dryly.</p><p>Frank chuckles in spite of himself. "That's good," he says. "So you'll…probably need another place to stay for a while. Until Nelson and Murdock get everything squared away."</p><p>"Yeah," says Karen, brows coming together with mock seriousness. "Yeah, a place with a door might be nice."</p><p>"I, uh." Frank clears his throat. "I have one of those."</p><p>She tries, but nothing could contain the smile that she gives him, and he drops his head into his hand, groaning at how absurd he's just sounded. "Christ, this is going well. You know what—"</p><p>Curt seems to be taking his time with the coat, so Frank strides forward to meet her. He reaches for her hand, giving her a gentle tug, and then he snakes both arms around her back, drawing her body up against his.</p><p>"Hey," he says.</p><p>"Hi," she says back, linking her hands behind his neck. She drags her nails lightly over the skin of his nape, and he gives a small shudder, his mind going pleasantly blank. "You're like a cat when I do that," she observes.</p><p>"Feels nice." Frank steals a furtive look at the hallway where Curt had gone off to. Satisfied, he leans his forehead into Karen's, closing his eyes for a moment.</p><p>She trails her fingers up his scalp, threading them through his hair. She hums out a pleased sound when he shivers again, and he tips his chin down, capturing her mouth with his.</p><p>He's brief but thorough, leaving them both to catch their breath a little when they part. He noses another kiss to her temple as she rests a palm over his side, just enough for him to feel the heat of it and nothing more.</p><p>"How bad is it today?" she asks him quietly.</p><p>"Can barely feel it," he shrugs. At her frown, he closes his arms more firmly around her, presses his lips to her forehead and murmurs, "Too busy feeling other things right now."</p><p>He kisses her, and waits, wanting to know that she'll be okay with this on her own terms. When she lifts her gaze back up to his, she's smiling softly.</p><p>She gently touches the sides of his neck, his jaw. "Both hands, Frank." And then she's the one leaning in to kiss him this time, and fuck if he's ever letting her go.</p><p>"You two decent, or should I come back later?"</p><p>Frank feels her smile into the kiss before pulling away. Reluctant as he is, he makes an effort to step back too, with a sheepish kind of grin for Curt as he emerges from the hallway.</p><p>"More coffee?" Curt asks them, and walks into the kitchen as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. "You want eggs, Karen?"</p><p>Curt turns toward the stove as they seat themselves at the counter. Karen bends around Frank, slipping her bag strap over one of the barstools. As she straightens, she presses a kiss to the back of Frank's neck, moving away just in time to accept a full plate of breakfast from Curt.</p><p>Frank blinks, feeling flushed and distinctly off-balance. He tries not to look over at Karen, reaching between them to take her hand instead.</p><p>As their fingers intertwine, he snags a glimpse of it—of Karen, looking down for a moment, and smiling—and he wonders if he'll ever fully catch his breath again.</p><p>"Come on, guys," says Curt, as he fills their mugs and sets them onto the counter. "Don't make me tell you to get a room, 'cause you're definitely not using mine anymore."</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Frank kisses her when he wants, now.</p><p>Wherever he wants, too.</p><p>He's healing, still, and that part's a pain—it does put a limit on some of the things they're able to do with each other. Do <em>to</em> each other, as the case may be.</p><p>But it doesn't stop them from spending all of Christmas Eve in bed, and much of Christmas morning too.</p><p>His place is far from festive. He'd hardly thought of it as home even before the holiday season, and now it would almost be sad—if not for the fact that Karen is here, filling the place with the light of her smile, the warmth in her laugh. All the other, softer sounds, too.</p><p>The small tree that he'd bought her sits on a bookshelf, by the only window in his place. He'd almost laughed, when she brought it in with the rest of her things. But then he took her into his arms instead, and it had felt both familiar and new all at once, like another kind of beginning for them.</p><p>Frank gets the call from Lieberman while they're in the shower. He plays the voicemail back on speaker in the kitchenette, Karen drinking her coffee and reading through the morning paper as Frank makes them a late breakfast.</p><p>"<em>Hey, it's me</em>," says David's voice. "<em>What are you doing for New Year's</em>?"</p><p>It's clearly meant as a rhetorical question, but there's a pause anyway, some chattering in the background that's broken by a muffled "<em>Shhh</em>!" before David is back on the line and saying, with authority, "<em>You're coming here for New Year's. In case that wasn't clear</em>."</p><p>"I think you're being summoned," Karen says dryly to Frank.</p><p>He comes up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist. "Think you're about to be too," he murmurs, and she looks at him with a confused sort of interest.</p><p>"<em>And please</em>," continues David, "<em>consider this a formal request to get your head out of your ass and ask Karen. In case that wasn't clear before either</em>." Someone—Sarah—must be scolding him then because he adds a quick, "<em>Oh—sorry, kids</em>." He finishes, "<em>See you in a couple days, Frank. All right, bye</em>," and hangs up.</p><p>Karen goes back to reading the paper, giving Frank space to process all this. But his mind's been made up from the moment he saw that David had called him.</p><p>"Hey," he says, and Karen glances up at him, something soft playing at the corners of her features. "How do you feel about going upstate?"</p><p>"I feel pretty good about it," she says, with a teasing kind of solemnness meant to match his own tone.</p><p>He ducks his head, looking almost bashfully up at her. "Yeah?"</p><p>"Yeah, Frank," she says, turning into his arms. "I do."</p><p>He leans her over the coffee and papers, and they kiss, long and slow, until neither of them can hold back a smile anymore.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for reading :) and please consider leaving a comment if you can! so much love, time and energy was poured into this fic, and hearing from readers makes it all worth it. whether it's two words or ten, whatever love you have to spare, it means everything to a writer!</p><p>this fic is also <a href="https://ninzied.tumblr.com/post/638976006071484416/this-space-for-regrets-only-it-starts-with-one">rebloggable on tumblr</a>.</p><p>happy holidays, everyone!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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